


The Noble and Numerous Weaknesses of A. Z. Fell, Principality

by Paclipas



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: 6000 Years of Pining (Good Omens), Anxiety, Anxious Aziraphale (Good Omens), Author Has No Idea How To Use Footnotes, Aziraphale Was Just Doing His Job Ok, Aziraphale's Bookshop (Good Omens), Beginnings, Crowley is Bad at Being a Demon (Good Omens), Drunkenness, Friendship/Love, I Will Go Down With This Ship, M/M, Post-Canon, Self-Doubt, The Arrangement (Good Omens), can be read either way
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-28
Updated: 2019-07-28
Packaged: 2020-07-23 20:24:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,902
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20014300
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Paclipas/pseuds/Paclipas
Summary: The angel Aziraphale had many a weakness - but his biggest by far was one particular demon.





	The Noble and Numerous Weaknesses of A. Z. Fell, Principality

**Author's Note:**

> This is my attempt at coping with being completely and utterly sucked into the fandom. Not that I was particularly resistant.

Aziraphale was quick to admit that he had a great many weaknesses. There was Humanity for one, as evidenced by the Flaming Sword Incident. It wasn’t his fault, really. Humans were so fragile, so fleeting. And yet full of determination. All creatures fought to live, thrived through evolution[1] but none did it as fervently as the humans. Admittedly, the sword had helped a bit in the beginning, but from there it was all them. It was impressive how they could adapt to the harshest environments. How they could cross the vast sandy deserts of the world and survive even in the icy tundra where not even the serpents dared to go[2]. They had gone from living in caves to building skyscrapers within a fraction of the time it had taken from the creation of the universe to the dawn of humanity itself. It was nothing short of remarkable, Aziraphale had been first to recognize that. Though he did occasionally miss the serenity of simpler times when he looked outside the bookshop into the busy streets.

Ah, the bookshop. Another weakness of his. Literature in any and every form, from biblical scrolls to penny dreadfuls to modern classics, Aziraphale adored it all. He had loved books throughout the centuries, always admiring the sheer creativity and reverence that went into making them. Word after word created a world in itself, much like God herself had created everything in the beginning. His collection was his most prized possession, his _only_ possession. Angels do not traditionally hold onto things, they aren’t really all that sentimental. Aziraphale was the exception. As with most things.

Then there was the gavotte, which he still sometimes found himself dancing on a particularly lonely night, though the fact that he always danced alone did in no way whatsoever lessen his decided lack of company. What never let him down was of course scones[3] and a good bottle of Chateau Margaux.

His biggest weakness, however, he kept firmly to himself even while – or especially _when_ \- temptation was right in front of him. And good lord, temptation really hadn’t given him a break since the Apocalypse That Never Was.

Currently _Temptation_ was dressed in its usual attire sans sunglasses and sitting on the carpeted floor at his feet, leaning back against the loveseat in the angel’s back room with one hand firmly grasping the neck of a bottle of the aforementioned Chateau Margaux. Yellow eyes stared through the very matter of the world into empty space in a way only vast amounts of alcohol made possible.

Aziraphale had always valued that, for being as different as they were, they could have long drawn-out conversations on their drinking nights both of silly and of serious nature. This was no such night. Instead of their usual drunken banter he was met with a not entirely unpleasant yet somber silence. There had been increasingly more of those as of late but Aziraphale was not willing to address them, for fear of such a conversation ending their arrangement for good. A part of him worried that now that they were on their own side instead of opposing ones they did not have much more to say to one another. That maybe, being adversaries for six thousand years had been their only bond.

He was suddenly very aware that he was not nearly inebriated enough for comfort.

Crowley silently handed over the bottle as if reading his mind[4] and Aziraphale took it, careful to grab it by the body so their fingers would not touch. They rarely did. Hadn’t since returning their faces to one another.

The thought compelled him to drink the rest of the Chateau Margaux, for once not cherishing its exquisite flavor profile. Of course that of all things untied the demon’s tongue.

“Oi,” he complained. “Wasn’t very angelic, that.”

Aziraphale wasn’t entirely sure if the comment related to his graceless drinking or finishing the bottle by himself. Either way he granted the demon a sideways glance and shrugged, using a minor miracle to refill the bottle before handing it back. “Well. One could certainly argue I’ve done worse.”

Crowley had no comeback to that and just took a swig instead. Maybe it was the alcohol fueling Aziraphale’s system but the silence now felt heavier. Like they simply had nothing left to say. Or so it seemed.

“You’ve always been a lousy angel,” Crowley slurred into the silence, eyes still fixated on nothing in particular.

“I- um- _Excuse me?!_ ” Aziraphale flustered as he sat up straighter, head shooting around to look at the demon slouched on his pristine floor. The movement was fast enough to make his head spin from the wine.

“Wassa compliment.” Crowley was now looking up at him, his snake-like pupils slightly dilated in the sparsely lit room.

“Pardon me for not quite taking it as such,” Aziraphale was genuinely offended by the suggestion. Offended enough that he was unfazed even by the rare opportunity to gaze into the demon’s eyes. He may not have always been the most obedient to the Host in their eyes but that was due to the fact that he felt many of his direct orders allowed a somewhat liberal interpretation. The angel wouldn’t admit it even under (yet another) threat of Hellfire, but he had always envied his demonic counterpart for the fact that he operated under more freedom and with fewer consequences to his less successful endeavors. Even the smallest temptation was still a sin, after all. In contrast, Aziraphale was still hearing of his minor hiccups of centuries past from Gabriel while Crowley flew under his superiors’ radar unless he intentionally – for lack of a more graceful term- royally pissed them off.

So to summarize, Aziraphale considered himself to be a less than perfect angel – but saying he was _lousy_ was taking it a step too far. Even coming from his oldest companion.

Suddenly Crowley erupted into laughter, throwing his head back as he guffawed. “Oh, don’t look at me like that, Aziraphale.”

“What has gotten into you?” Aziraphale sobered himself up ever so slightly, incredulous. The demon had always been somewhat erratic but to go from stoic silence to gleeful laughter was rather strange nonetheless.

Instead of an explanation, Crowley jumped to his feet until he stood slightly unstable on his long legs.[5] The wine sloshed around in the bottle. “What’re we doing here, angel?”

“I believe we’re having rather too much to drink,” Aziraphale assessed, sobering further.

“No!” Crowley yelled. “No no no no no,” he wiggled a scolding finger at the angel. “We’re pocras- procast- _avoiding_ things.” And with that the demon, too, released the alcohol from his system.

“I’m afraid I do not follow, dear,” Aziraphale said as he eyed the demon suspiciously.

“Is this all we’re going to do from now on? Sit here and drink? Eat at the Ritz?” Crowley elaborated, his words accompanied by an exaggerated hand-gesture that made the now fuller wine bottle spill a drop or two.

The question caused Aziraphale, who had been enjoying their shared time regardless of his worries, great discomfort. Now his fear of their ways parting seemingly manifested right before his very eyes and he was nowhere close to ready for goodbyes. But who was he told hold back his dearest friend if leaving was what he wished to do. After all, Crowley liked to go fast.

“We could do anything, angel!” Crowley continued on in an absolute contradiction to Aziraphale’s thoughts. “Go anywhere. No one’s there to tell us off. Not that that’s stopped us in the past, but the point is- You’re a _lousy_ angel.”

“Yes, I heard you the first time, it’s really not necessary to repeat-”

“ _Which_ ,” Crowley continued, steamrolling over the angel’s protest, “Makes you the best of the lot. Plus, I’m a lousy demon. Quite possibly the lousiest there is, was and ever will be.”

“Well,” Aziraphale said, crossing his arms in a defiant gesture but with the hint of a smile tugging at his lips. “I’m inclined to agree.”

Crowley beamed at him, white teeth and all. It was truly a sight to behold. “So let’s go! Lousy angel, lousier demon, what could go wrong?” His voice grew increasingly soft.

Aziraphale could imagine a great deal that could go wrong. In fact, he could barely conjure any scenario in which this particular combination would not end in absolute chaos. Though that may also be due to the fact that most of his mind was focused on the demon’s words. He had been right. Crowley was itching to leave the comfort of the calmness they had settled into after using their combined lousiness to stop the Great Plan. What he had gotten tragically wrong was that Crowley had no intention of leaving him behind.

This of course woke a whole new spout of anxiety that had until now been patiently waiting at the sidelines. For once Aziraphale ignored it. “Um. Uh. What did you have in mind?”

“Anything,” Crowley repeated. “ _Everything_.” And as if the cursed demon had not surprised poor Aziraphale enough for one day, he extended his hand.

Aziraphale stared at it dumbly for a long moment, distantly noting that the demon must have miracled the wine bottle away at some point. Then he looked up and found those serpentine eyes staring back at him with such incredible softness and a never before seen devotion[6] that had he been human he might have fallen over from the feeling spreading in his chest. Before he could begin to overthink the situation he accepted the silent offer.

Crowley pulled him to his feet and Aziraphale staggered ever so slightly even though he was no longer drunk before he found his footing. The touch didn’t linger. It didn’t need to, because it had fulfilled its symbolic purpose. Their arrangement no longer lay like a barrier between them. Instead, for the first time in six thousand years, it truly united them.

“Alpha Centauri is lovely this time of year[7],” Aziraphale said, shyly folding his hands in front of him.

“Be honest, angel,” Crowely said benevolently, “Are you just avoiding the Bentley?”

Aziraphale huffed a laugh. “You drive like a madman!”

“Thank you.” Crowley sounded genuinely flattered as he conjured a pair of his sunglasses. He winked at the angel before hiding his eyes. Which was a good thing too, because Aziraphale was certain he couldn’t have taken much more of those soft looks. When the demon motioned toward the door, the angel did not hesitate. It didn’t really matter where they were going as long as they went together.

After all, the demon Crowley had always been his biggest weakness. And for the first time, he was more than willing to admit that.

[1] This wasn’t contradictory to Her creating the Earth, it was part of it, thank you.

[2] Well, except _one_ but we’ll get to him in a moment, be patient.

[3] As well as cake, shortbread, eclairs, baklava… any kind of baked goods, really.

[4] Maybe he had. Maybe knowing each other for millennia meant he didn’t have to.

[5] Then again, he did always have a controlled sort of instability to his movements.

[6] It was not the first time Crowley wore this expression around the angel, usually it was simply hidden behind his sunglasses of choice.

[7] In fact, Alpha Centauri was lovely year-round.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm afraid my narrative capabilities have grown rusty during an extended hiatus but I felt compelled to still try my hand at some storytelling after all this time. Good Omens will do that to a semi-retired fangirl. (23 years old and talking about retirement, way to go me. Next I'll order an early bird special in Florida)
> 
> Hope you found some enjoyment in this little idea. It felt good to get out of the academic funk and write a bit of fiction for a change.


End file.
